


Plastic Taste

by dubbbz



Category: The Filthy Frank Show (Web Series)
Genre: Cute, Eventual Smut, Gay, In the end, M/M, hopelessness, however, ill resume it one day, im actually in a rlly fucking good mental state, its too angsty for my happy heart, jojian, really sad and really existential and really useless, so i cant write this, straight -ish boys denying the have feelings, woop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-08-29 12:05:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8488804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dubbbz/pseuds/dubbbz
Summary: sad gay boys become very sad because they think they don't have feelings for each other when they obviously do. drawn out straight boy angst. idiots





	1. May Be a Price To Pay

The wind whistled in a melancholy way, curling around the rocks at the edge of the beach. Far from the cliffs, lights passively shone from sleeping homes. Water lapped at the rocks below the looming bluff, seemingly dancing to a mellow beat. Further along the beach, a bonfire glowed, blurry figures jumping around it. The wind was slightly biting, and a shivering Joji blinked slowly as he tried to wrap his head around his surroundings. It was quieter here than where the party was, and as the rush from their sprint faded, their laughter died down, and all the noises they made echoed. Falling down on the hard dusty rocks, Ian was still obliviously giggling. Nothing was more joyous than when Ian was happy and drunk, Joji thought. Nothing glowed more than his childish smile, eyes crinkled and light reflecting off his wonky glasses.

 

“I beat you!” Ian said as he flailed around on the ground, out of breath.  
“Sure, buddy.” Joji chuckled, his deep voice warm with affection. He was definitely more sober than Ian, who had just figured out how to sit up, and was panting, his face flushed. He’d suggested they check out the end of the beach, but Ian turned it into an impromptu race. Never one to turn down a challenge, Joji ran after him. Now having reached the end of the stretch of sand, sitting on rocks, the two caught their breath and stared out at the dark water.

 

It was their last night in Australia, and Max was throwing a party for them down on the beach. Over the past week they’d filmed countless videos, and they’d all had more than their share of near death experiences. It was nice to finally relax for a bit, though Joji apprehended that there’d likely be some burns by the end of the night, considering the fire. But that didn’t matter. There was a small buzz of alcohol coursing through his body, and he was alone with Ian, in a quiet and beautiful spot. In the moment, he forgot about everything but the present. It was so beautiful, the black water hitting the rocks below them, Ians warm presence puffing next to him. So mellow, the twinkling lights in the distance; so seemingly far away from all trouble, all responsibilities, all worries. Sitting with his knees up to his chest, arms wrapped around them, he shivered, realising he was quite cold. Ian noticed, and with a half smile took off the hideous letterman he always wore and offered it to Joji. Grateful, he let it be draped over his hunched shoulders. The silence between them dragged out as Ian eventually caught his breath, and Joji opened his mouth to speak, but felt as though nothing would come out. But then he succeeded:

 

“Do you ever wish you could just... stop?” And something he never foresaw came out. It was fucking lame, he thought, and waited for Ian to make a joke about crippling depression, homosexuality, or at least a “stop what?” But nothing of the sort came. Really it was worse; it was a solemn agreement, a validation of everything he wished to hide. Ian didn’t reply for a moment, facing away from Joji towards the sea. Then he just nodded and said,

 

“Yeah, I do.” And his sincerity startled Joji. For a second he resented Ian for replying seriously; the lack of humour in his quiet reply made the matter seem serious- harder to brush off and ignore like usual. 

 

“It’s so hard.” Joji uttered, nearly inaudible, staring at his hands. They were soft, but his cuticles were in ruins because he was constantly biting them. The stress, he thought. Really, he was just being a pussy, life as a youtuber should by no means be “hard”; it was an insult to people who really worked for a living. And moping was dumb. Thinking this, he heaved himself to his feet. After wiping the orange dust off his butt, he offered his hand to the man on the ground, giving him a small smile. Ian looked up at him, accepting his hand curiously. When Ian opened his mouth to speak, Joji swung him around, ballroom style. Ian chuckled, both of them silently agreeing to ignore the exchange of a couple seconds earlier. Joji ran after Ian, who was stumbling away, and grabbed him by the waist to pull him in and jokingly kiss his flushed cheek. Ian grimaced, screwing up his eyes and rubbing his face like a pouty child. His heart’s pounding seemed musical as he, laughing, reached up to steal Ian’s glasses and ran back towards where they were sitting earlier. He shrugged off the jacket onto the ground to slow down Ian, who didn’t seem to care and just trampled over it. Joji leant against the cliff giggling as Ian approached him angrily, but smiling in that menacing way he always did. 

 

“Gee, I didn’t think you could see without your glasses!” Joji beamed.  
“I.. uh.. Shutup! Give them back!” Exclaimed Ian, breathless and exasperated. Snatching the glasses from Joji’s grip, he moved forwards to intimidate him, but drunkenly misjudged the distance and became so close to the smaller man that he was pinning him against the rock. While he slid his glasses on, he held unnervingly strong eye contact with Joji. And Joji wasn’t thinking. 

 

In a frantic, unplanned second, he grabbed Ian’s hot neck and pulled him towards himself, connecting their lips with more force than they had ever used on each other before. And in the moment, Ian reacted in a way he would later reflect on as just “drunk”; letting himself be groped and moving along with the kiss. But only for a moment. He pulled away with a blank expression, and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, said,

“You know the cameras aren’t on, George.” He was dazed. Dazed and confused and dumb and he couldn’t think straight- so he replied in the blandest way.  
“What are you, fucking gay?” He saw Ian roll his eyes, and so he curled his lip meanly and “elaborated” (lied, he lied). “I was just pulling a meme. You enjoyed it, fucko.” He knew what Ian was thinking, the infamous “it’s not even funny!”. But Ian laughed.

“Okay, fag.” Joji could tell he was trying his hardest to brush it off, like he always did: His eyes were averted, he had that uneasy half smirk- which meant whatever he was saying was insincere. But just as soon as it had begun, the moment was over, and their awkward bodies relaxed away from each other. Still avoiding eye contact, Ian was chuckling to himself, and walked over the pick up his jacket. Joji was speechless, and blankly nodded as Ian staggered past him back to the beach- he’d follow soon after, but wanted to avoid any conversation. He didn’t feel up to covering his dumb feelings with even dumber jokes... 

 

And he stood there for minutes afterwards, stunned from the kiss, the running, the flummox of feelings in his unsettled stomach, and all the horrible thoughts in his head, but softly calmed by the night, the dark water steadily hitting the rocks below him, and the twinkling lights further along the silent coast.


	2. Nothing Left To Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait. sad sad sad ian, plotless, pointless, rushed

There’s something sharp about the feeling of sitting in your car, alone, in the middle of the night. The type of sharpness that the wind bites at you with, the sharpness of biting your tongue, the cutting edge of being desperately, devastatingly... alone.

Yeah, Ian doesn’t do that “gay” shit. Yeah yeah, you’re sad? Fuck off. He’d usually deal with sadness in the way of any dumb twenty-something year old; going and getting wasted. However, however, he really had no one to get wasted with. All his friends were out of town, or gone, or he had pushed them away; it didn’t matter… well, it did. So Ian sat in his car at the beach, hearing the waves relentlessly hit the shore. And it was sharp, and cold. That’s all he could think of to explain it. Head in his hands. Fingers twisted into his hair, twirling, twirling. The sound of the ocean was a comfortable constant, returning to the beach again and again, slowly, surely. The wind howled along the beach, reminiscent of that night with the boy on the beach, back in Australia...

“Sorry about kissing you, Ian.” Joji had looked uneasy, but was smiling- an attempt to cover his feelings and put it behind all them. It was the early hours of the morning, all their friends were strewn around, in varying states of consciousness. Joji was looking expectant, worried, quite close to Ian; the closest he’d been since earlier that night. And, for once in his cynical, quick witted life, he had been at a loss for words. He had felt Joji’s drunken breath hit his face, seen the rise and fall of the boy’s chest, and had felt the own flummoxing dizziness in his heart. And, he didn’t answer. He just- nodded, curtly, dismissingly. Joji recoiled, sitting back down. His face fell, and the fire that had burned all night turned to embers.

Ian rolled his neck around, feeling his tendons stretch. It was a good feeling. And he closed his eyes, and he rolled, rolled, rolled- his head rolled off his shoulders and out into the bay, bobbing along the shore. Water filled his ears, his eyes, he was swathed in salt and tossed around in the wind. Waves lapped at his cold skin, filled his mouth, he gasped in for air- and he rolled back into reality.

Cold car, cold hands- cold bones, he’d say. He didn’t know what to think. He couldn’t stop thinking about Joji, the boy’s soft skin, warm lips, his coarse black hair, his soft smell. And he rolled his head around, hoping slightly that it really would just fall off and float into the darkness. The sharp feeling hit him, over and over again- there’s really nothing pretty in cold desolation. It’s not romantic, endearing, or ideal; it’s sitting in your car until your legs go numb and your head hurts, until you’re not even aware of yourself anymore. Ian wondered why he was getting so worked up about a tiny kiss. It was just a kiss, and Joji had apologised. Obviously it meant nothing. Nothing, nothing. So taking a deep breath, he decided to stop thinking himself into oblivion and go home.

 

Home was a tiny bit better. Clambering out of the car, his movements felt oddly swift, and he heard each cautious step that hit the floor as an echoing stomp. He picked his phone up from the kitchen bench. He fumbled, turning the light on. He- distractedly, slowly, slid down the side of a kitchen cupboard. He sat on the kitchen floor. He unlocked his phone. Repeating everyday activities made things seem more normal.  
He opened up iMessage.

There were several worried messages from his friends, a couple missed calls from his mum, and something from his phone company. Nothing from Joji. Ian knew he was over-reacting, but it hurt. And he also thought to himself, in his desolate state, he had nothing left to lose. He tapped Joji’s name. He began to type:  
Hey , dude. I’m lonely. Can I call you? He paused, not knowing if he wanted face the boy right now. Just as he was about to press send, the little speech bubble showed up on screen, showing Joji was typing. Ian watched the bubble intently, the stark light hurting his eyes a little, the dirty kitchen tiles cold and hard against his lower body. Typing, typing, typing... The little bubble went away. Ian’s sigh echoed through the empty room. Suddenly, his phone screen lit up and his ringtone went off- Joji was calling him. He let it ring. After the third ring, he went to press the green button, but it hung up. Ian didn’t know whether he had accidently pressed the red button, or Joji had given up. He didn’t care, and he wasn’t thinking, and he called him back. Joji picked up immediately.

Nobody said anything. Ian heard Joji’s breathing, somewhere far away, on the other side of the country. The silence was awkward, but Ian couldn’t bring himself to speak. So, they breathed in unison, until Joji stuttered out, in a deeper voice than Ian remembered.

“W-wanna come to New York for a week or two? My-my friends are all with family, and it's cold here, it’s um, cold and...”  
“You may as well be on the other side of the world.”  
“Dude, it’s one plane flight.”  
“Yeah.” It was quiet for a bit. “When do you want me to come?”  
“Tomorrow?”  
“I can’t just up and leave Joji, I have things to do.”  
“No you don’t. Max told me, you haven’t talked to any of your friends for weeks.” Ian was silent for a bit.  
“Okay, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” He hung up.

Head in his hands again, he wondered what the fuck just happened. He dropped his phone to the floor. Though confused, angry; he was feeling excited. And it was ok. He was done with thinking for the night. He got up to go to his bedroom, then, on a second thought, reached above his fridge to the box he kept there, fishing out a bottle of sleeping pills. The glass bottle felt cool in his palm. His tired arms shook as he took two pills, then walked down the hall to his room.


	3. Snake Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay, an update :) its almost the holidays so i'll be able to write a lot pre soon!! i hope you like the chapter xx

The plane took off with a jolt. Ian sat still as he felt the pressure in his ears increase. The flight was about five hours, and he couldn’t see or hear any kids; it seemed as though it would be a pleasant flight. He was seated next to some dude with a faggoty beard and several earrings. On his other side, there was an old lady wearing crocs. Their faces were both bland, unmemorable… He sat immobile, feeling the seat against the different points in his body, the rush of the plane taking off, hearing every noise that occurred near him. Somebody sniffled. Someone was flicking through the safety brochure. Something rumbled quietly. Somehow, he had boarded the plane and got to this point without dwelling too much on his feelings and mental breakdown the night before. It was midday, and the sun warmed patches on his forearms, resting on the skinny arm rests. Breaths took themselves, and he felt significantly like the plane itself; cold, metal, unfeeling. He wiggled his toes. One of them was sweaty, the other was uncomfortably dry. It annoyed him- he wiggled them more.

“What would you like to drink, Sir?” A swift flight attendant had appeared next to his seat row. A smile addressed him.

“Uh, uh, what is there?” He queried, quietly. The smile rummaged through the tray and array of plastic cups. It listed the available drinks. Ian asked for some water. The smile continued on down the aisle. Ian hummed a little to himself, sipping the plastic-tasting water. He held the glass too strongly; it crackled and water splashed onto him. But upon looking down, he couldn’t see the dark patch where it had landed. Huh. He felt movement next him, the old lady was turning towards him. She opened her weathered mouth, and said something… in a language Ian had never heard before. However, he felt charmed, and he gave her a sweet smile in response. She turned back around, robotically. The plane flew on.

Joji’s apartment building was tall. Ian stepped out of whatever car had brought him there, umbrella in one hand, phone in the other. He didn’t seem to have his luggage with him. It didn’t bother him. He walked up the steps. The door opened itself, and Ian entered into the lobby. It seemed to be a well kept up room, there were unrecognisable paintings on the walls, some plastic looking plants, old but clean carpet- and the elevator seemed to be working. Strangely, there was no noise to be heard. The elevator ride was surprisingly smooth, and fast- he couldn’t remember the floor Joji’s place was on, but the elevator seemed to know where it was going. Along the corridor, still, he couldn’t hear anything. It was vaguely unnerving, but the softness he felt as he walked along comforted him. He rolled down the hallway, stopping at Joji’s door. He didn’t see the number, but he knew it was the right one. And he knocked- the noise was dull, muted, but also seemed to ring through his expectant ears.

Joji answered the door almost immediately. The room seemed blurry, but his face was clear: soft features, dark hair, the plump lips Ian remembered almost too vividly.

“Hey, that was quick!” His brown eyes crinkled as he spoke.

“Yeah, the plane was fast.”Ian mumbled.

“Come in,” Joji gestured to the luggage Ian was now holding in his right hand, the umbrella nowhere to be seen. Maybe he left it downstairs. “I’ll show you around. My roomies wouldn’t like you in their bedrooms, you can sleep on the couch I guess.”

Ian said something in response. He was transfixed by Joji’s eyes as he led him to the lounge- they were still brown, yeah, but his pupils seemed to be unnaturally dilated.

“So, um, how was the flight.”Joji asked flatly.

“Uh, good. Yeah.” Ian said, rubbing his temples. The flight was fuzzy in his mind. Joji said something about putting his bags down, his eyes still weirdly dark. Ian nodded distractedly.

All the curtains were closed in Joji’s apartment. The kettle was boiling, but Ian couldn’t hear any noise from it. He couldn’t seem to focus on any points or corners in the room, either. The air felt flat, and stale. Joji was in the kitchen, pouring some whiskey into glasses. He made a remark about the flight, something about winding down. Ian noticed his own breathing was rather heavy. Taking the drink offered to him, he sat down on the couch. He stared at the glass. It seemed like a multitude of colours, and kept changing shape as the whiskey sloshed around in it. He made a polite comment about not really enjoying drinking. Joji huffed something back, sitting on the other couch in the room. Ian sighed, having a sip anyway. It tasted quite a lot different from how he remembered, and Ian wondered if he had been missing out on alcohol all these years.

Soon he was drunk. The couches seemed to have changed place, and the room was glowing purple. Joji was on the other couch, and seemed to have just asked Ian something. Ian stuttered something about going to the toilet. He got up to walk away, heaven knows how he knew where the toilet was- and he was close to a blurry wall when Joji stood up and approached him. Those pupils were still eerily large, and Ian noticed he wasn’t stopping at a safe distance. Joji had him pinned against the wall. Ian struggled. A knee was thrust at his bladder, and his legs fell weak. He must have let out a gasp, as Joji seemed to be taunting him. A whisper found its way to his ear, and a sweaty, hot, body was pressed against him. The pressure on his bladder was increasing.

Joji was biting at his ear, was saying something harshly, was pulling at his hair. Whatever he was doing, Ian didn’t like it. The dark, round eyes bore into his, the unwanted body trapping him against the unfriendly wall. The purple light in the room was cold- everything was still silent- but he heard unearthly screaming in his ears. Joji was kissing his neck. Clawing at his shirt. Pulling at his pants with evil fingers. Getting closer.. He yelled out-

He woke up. The screaming stopped. A burning pressure in his bladder pulled him out of bed, and shook him down the hallway. Pat, pat, pat… The cold tiles amplified the sound of every step, and Ian felt as though eyes were on him, watching his shaky movements. The moon shone through the toilet window. Ian felt glad for the noises he could hear: the hum of the wind, a cat yowling, leaves rustling. His face felt wet. He shook back down the hallway.


	4. Games People Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm back. It all seems kinda plotless but i promise you it'll be okay. i have it all planned out.

 

The phone rang from the kitchen bench. He let it. He sipped at the bitter coffee in his hands, a stony afternoon cloud darkening the room. The nightmare had filled the rest of his night with a cold insomnia, had filled his morning with anxiety, had filled his coffee cup probably more times than was safe. A voicemail was left; he listened to it from across the room.

 

_ “Hey dude.. Are you coming? Why aren’t you answering my texts? I get it if you don’t wanna visit me, but like.. i’m worried about you. Call me back?” _

Suddenly the room was much too quiet. Ian’s bones creaked as he got up, and turned on the tv. Some lady was making cocktails in a pristine white kitchen.Sitting on the couch, Ian swallowed uncomfortably, hating the sour aftertaste of cheap coffee in his mouth. The phone kept ringing. Eventually, he got up to turn it off. But he accidentally hit Joji’s contact name- it went to the conversation for him to type a message. He hesitated, then wrote out:  _ Sorry. Overslept. I’ll come tomorrow.  _ He stopped. He actually didn’t want to go, ever. He was shaken, and though he knew it was dumb, he was too scared to see Joji. He erased the message, then hesitantly typed:  _ I’m okay. Something came up, I can’t come, sorry dude  _ .. No, that wasn’t good either. The message was erased, the phone left on the bench, he swayed down the hallway. Opening his laptop, he was bombarded with notifications again. He had over 10 chats in messenger unread, but he ignored them all and messaged Chad. He always knew how to cheer him up.

_ -Hey dude _

_ -hey buddy , what’s up :0   _ Chad replied almost instantly. 

_ -i dunno, just glum _

_ -everyone’s been so quiet recently, man.. I have no idea what’s going on _

_ -even max?  _ Ian was puzzled.

_ -oh. Nah, not max. He’s still a fuckin happy dude , i meant you and George,, you know,, 50% of my best friends.  _

_ \- yeah.  _ Ian sighed.

_ \- are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?  _ Chad’s blunt question made Ian for some reason feel safe. Not thinking, he typed out:

_ -i’m gay _

_ -yeah i know, you goose _

Ian sighed, again.

- _ no like i might be like kinda possibly actually gay…  _ He almost instantly regretted pressing send. Too late.

_ -is this a game _

_ -um, not really..  _ Ian could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He watched the bubble as Chad typed.

- _ ok then lol.  _ Chad sent a dumb “I’m gay” meme. Ian didn’t know if he understood at all. He rubbed his forehead, tired and exasperated. Just as he was about to close the tab, Chad sent him a small paragraph.

 

_ -sorry, i don’t really know what to say lol. I don’t even know if ur being serious. You’re one of my best friends tho dude and i’ll support you through anything,,, i get the feeling u don’t wanna talk abt ur feelings but just know i’m here okay?? :/ _

Ian knew he should feel relieved, thankful for such a supportive friend; but he just felt empty. Not being bothered enough to express too much fake gratitude, he sent,

- _ Thanks. _

He closed the computer, head pounding. He knew he hadn’t uploaded a video in a weeks, and his subs were worried about him. So he took out his camera and wearily set up to film. The caffeine had worn off, and his movements were sluggish and heavy. Oh well, he thought. Making a video would prevent him from thinking too much about his nightmare, or the soft ache that throbbed perpetually through his head.

  
  


Ian’s butt began to hurt from sitting for so long. He was at his desk, almost finished editing the video he just filmed. He wasn’t proud of it, but it was at least something to let his fans know he wasn’t dead. Saving the video, the old folders full of videos with Max and Joji called to him. Generally he didn’t rewatch old videos, because he was too busy and cynical to allow nostalgia. But hell, he had nothing else to do. He opened a video from 2016. They were on Max’s couch. Max was drunkenly “explaining” something about some game, and Ian was studying his face intently. Ian remembered that moment; he was enjoying watching flecks of spit fly from Max’s drunken mouth. But what caught his eye in the clip was Joji’s face. Joji was staring at Ian like Ian was staring at Max, but less fascinated, and more… loving. He wondered why this was filmed. Joji seemed to be fully transfixed on Ian, looking- longing? Sad? Ian didn’t know. He closed the window.

 

He clicked on another video, unable to control himself. It was the same night, he thought, but they seemed to be a lot more naked. He and Joji were alone on the floor, leaning against the couch, and shouting could be heard in the distance. They both seemed to be asleep; that would explain why Ian couldn’t remember it. A cold shudder came over him and flooded his body as he watched the video. It gave him an eerie feeling to watch himself sleep, like he was watching something he shouldn’t. He and Joji’s legs were tangled together, the room they were in was trashed, the muffled noises in the background were oh so familiar… He really, really missed being in Australia with his friends. 

 

He didn’t know if he missed it because he missed Joji, or because he missed all the others too. He looked back on those times with a certain nostalgia that gave every memory a glowing golden hue, like the happiest, almost unattainable moments in life. He didn’t know why, because it wasn’t like everything was perfect back then, but memories have a weird way of warping out the unpleasant things.

 

Sitting there, at his messy desk, as he watched old footage, he told himself for the fiftieth time that day that he was being dumb, and he didn’t really have feelings for Joji, or anything like that. It must be like, jetlag, or a change in the weather, some bullshit? He knew he was lying to himself. The air in his room was stale, and suddenly the walls felt like they were closing in. Ian felt a shaky, fake sense of serenity. He felt like he was on the brink of lashing out and punching a wall, or screaming, or something… but just on the brink. A fragile layer of bland nothingness covered his bubbling thoughts beneath. And it was the strangest feeling of being in a flying rage and a cruel calmness all at once… Ian exhaled slowly. This wasn’t him! This wasn’t him, he was not mentally ill, he was not… he did not... He did not want to be awake.

  
  


Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Ian counted the ticks of the clock down the hall. It felt like a game. A dull, despairing game that bloomed and faded in time with his slow breaths, that he hoped would carry him off to sleep, that he… Tick, tock.


	5. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George is sad, Max is a concerned mother, I'm losing my mind,

The lights in New York never dimmed, the busy streets never quietened. Joji had never gotten over the dirty feeling the city gave him. He felt so small in his apartment, many of his windows lacking curtains and leaking stale light into the dingy rooms. Cold... His fingers trembled as he opened the sliding door onto his tiny balcony. His socked feet scraped against the rough wooden platform and sharp wind instantly hit him, stinging his face and neck. He fought the shivers that flooded his body, a wobbling hand reaching out to the rail.

 _Ring, ring... ring, ring..._ Joji’s hand was unsteady. He closed his eyes, trying to calm down.

 _“Hey, you’ve reached Ian Carter. I’m not here right now, leave a message. Thanks.”_ Joji tried to stop from mouthing along to the words he had heard so many times. He just, he just- He just wanted to talk to Ian. He just wanted him here, he wanted to see him once more just to understand how he really felt. To talk things out. Things had been quiet ever since Australia, and Joji knew something had changed in Ian. Whether he’d completely freaked him out by kissing him, or turned him on, something was different. Wrong. And Joji just wanted to get it all over with; get hurt, get over it. He didn’t want to dwindle in sadness like he knew he always did.

 

But here he was, a solemn loser on a rickety balcony at one in the morning. The phone had dropped from his ear, and was held in a tight grip as though he was in danger of throwing it. Perhaps he was. He pulled his pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and lit one. The world buzzed around him, drunken people littering the streets below. They were so small, like dolls in a dollhouse. Except it was a doll city, and Joji had no control over their tiny bodies. No control over his own body either. He had no idea what he was doing. His limbs moved themselves, pulling him shakily onto the balcony ledge. And he balanced dangerously, cold metal digging into his thighs, legs dangling down over the streets. Doll Joji perched on his balcony, one unplanned movement from plummeting down onto the stained concrete below. He wouldn’t, though. He was just out of his mind... Out of his mind.

Out of his pocket came the phone again, and he called Max. Who knew what time it was in Australia? Joji didn’t care. Max picked up, thankfully.

“Hey dude!” Max cheered from the other side of the world.

“Hey Max.” Joji’s voice sounded weak and watery, echoing through the phone.

“What’s up?”

“I don’t know.”

“Uh, why’d you call me?” Max’s bright tone had dropped.

“...I don’t know.” They were both silent for a second, unasked questions hanging limply in the air.

“How drunk are you, George?” Max asked cautiously. Suddenly the sour taste in Joji’s mouth was overpowering, putrid. He swallowed.

“A little bit.”

“Where are you?” He insisted.

“You sound like my mother.”

“Well, someone needs to look after you.” Joji could feel the concern in Max’s voice.

“I’m, uh, on my balcony.” He said quietly.

“George.”

“We’re not allowed to smoke inside?” Shit. It didn’t even fool him.

“George, go inside.” Max instructed.

“Ok, _mom_.” Joji mocked, lacklustre.

“This isn’t funny dude, go inside. Go to bed.”

“Fine.” He puffed, finishing the cigarette.

“Call me in the morning, ok?” Max’s question hung heavily, laced with fear and concern. Joji dropped the cigarette butt. He watched it fall down, swayed by the wind, a tiny spark lighting up the dark air.

“Okay.” He conceded. Max sighed, and hung up.

 

Phone back in his pocket, he watched the world for another moment. The flashing lights, smog, ugly buildings littering the skyline. Tiny people below him still scrambling along, doll people in a doll world.

 

Dull fingers fumbled to close the door behind him as he re-entered the apartment. It was a fraction warmer than it was outside, but still not comforting. Not enough. Ignoring the empty liquor bottles on the table, he grabbed the thick blanket that was haphazardly draped over the couch, laying down and pulling it over him. Turning on his side, he pulled out the cursed phone. The screen was too bright on his tired eyes, and he winced, turning down the brightness. Restless, he wriggled around, going back onto his back. Nothing seemed to be comfortable. Fingers with minds of their own directed him to Ian’s contact name yet again, the movements oh so familiar to him.

_Ring, ring... Ring, ring... Ring, ring..._

“Hello?” Ian’s voice was mild. Oh. Joji hadn’t expected him to pick up. A rush flew through him, making his heart patter, and all of a sudden, he had no idea what he wanted to say.

“Uh, George?” His voice was so familiar.

“Ian.” He said, slowly, trying to figure out what to say. Why had Ian suddenly decided to take his call?

“Yeah.”

“Um, ah, yeah, hi! What happened? Where’ve you been?” Blood was pounding in his ears. He knew he sounded phony.

“Um, I... had to uh, do... uh... a thing.” Joji knew Ian was lying; he let him.

“Do you still wanna um, come visit?” He queried, way too aware of his own heartbeat. Moments stretched out. He heard Ian’s own laboured breaths. Thinking, thinking.

“Um, yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll come tomorrow.”

“Okay. Um, I’ll see you soon.” Neither of them hung up. Joji inhaled slowly, frozen. Eventually, after some agonising silence, Ian hung up. He let the phone drop out of his hand, staring blankly at the ceiling. He didn’t know what to make of the quiet, awkward encounter. Why had Ian disappeared for two days? Why did he finally decide pick up now, at 1am? Why was he coming? Joji didn’t even know what he wanted anymore. _To talk, just to talk_ , he reminded himself. With Ian here, they could figure out what was wrong. Face to face. With Ian here... he didn’t know what.

 

It was obvious he had feelings for Ian... He threw off the blanket, got off the couch. But he had no idea how Ian felt. Fucking feelings. Joji walked to the bathroom, tiles seeping cold through his socked feet. The mirror in front of him was dirty, covered in finger prints and dust. He watched his dark reflection brush its teeth, swaying from foot to foot. Ian must feel _something_ , or why would he be coming? Joji’s eyes drooped as he scuffed down the hall to his bedroom, anxious thoughts looming over him like a dark cloud. It’s not like he was just coming to be friendly, to hang out. He peeled his clothes off, climbed into bed... And he certainly wasn’t coming to give him chocolates and roses. Staring at the ceiling, he waited to be carried off to sleep. Waiting... thoughts buzzed in his mind, things he couldn’t control; visions of an angry Ian, of them embracing, their kiss on the beach... Joji didn’t know what to think. It was all moving too fast, and he wasn’t even slightly in control. Hours drew on, rolling back and forth, rumbling, tumbling... he thought he could see the sun beginning to rise as he finally drifted off to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so uh. I was thinking of deleting this fanfic. You guys know the fic "Holster your gun, hermes." by ironicheadtilt??? I'm sure u do. That's what inspired me to write this fic, but I just feel like it's way too similar, like I'm copying them... And i feel really dumb and unoriginal. But Oh well. Iv'e decided to keep writing this fic, I only have 3 chapters left to write anyway. hope u enjoy, leave a comment if u like, i thrive off the validation of strangers,


	6. The Gold Bug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this took so long. I've lost a lot of motivation for this story because i started a maxian fanfic and i've been putting all my time into that shit. sigh, sorry. I hope you like this chapter! only two to go!

 

 

Ian shuddered as he stepped into Joji’s apartment building. It was nothing like how he’d dreamed but… still, it was freaky. He felt fragile and frail, like the liters of coffee he’d drunk over the days had not only worn out his body but had fried his mind, leaving him dazed and in a constant state of crashing. However, here he was. Somehow he had mustered up the foolish courage to take one of Joji’s calls, and had agreed to catch a plane the next day. And, here he was. Here he was. Here he was. The thought echoed in time with his footsteps as he ascended the stairs; Joji had texted him earlier about the elevator not working. It surely wasn’t an omen or anything, it was just pure,  _ hearty  _ inconvenience, Ian thought to himself, as he hauled his heavy luggage up the many stairs. Upon reaching the landing of Joji’s floor, he was sweating. He looked disdainfully at the gloomy-looking carpet in the hallway that was splattered with various stains, so many that Ian could barely tell what the original colour was meant to be. A painting he passed peered at him eerily, but- no. Nothing was going to go wrong, it was just Ian being shaken and dumb, paranoid and foolish, silly and...lovesick?

 

Ian had come to terms with the fact that he had something for Joji. He wasn’t an idiot. He’d decided in one of his vaguely drunk, caffeine-fueled stupors that yes, he had “thing” for Joji, and yes, he had to do something other than just sit and be miserable. He commended himself a little bit for being so level-headed. Really, he was just a loser with some sort of deathwish, carting a heavy suitcase and a headache into his own doom.  _ Death by Gay Heartache.  _ That actually sounded like a great video title. He chuckled dryly, reaching Joji’s door. He knocked, the impact shocking his delicate hand.

 

“Hey!” Joji smiled widely as he opened the door. Ian felt himself smiling too; It was that sort of instinctual fake cheerfulness that one puts on when meeting guests. 

“Hey, George.” He wondered how long it would last.

“Um, come in.” Joji said, looking nervous. Ian was glad to see his eyes looked normal, though slightly red. He was led into a dark, empty-feeling apartment. Rain pounded down outside, and rattled at the curtainless windows.

“You can sleep in one of my roommates’ rooms?” Joji said, sounding uncertain. “Uh, yeah. Come on, it’s probably pretty clean, they probably won’t mind.” Ian followed him into a dark room that smelt like pine needles. There was a bed in one corner, and a semi-organised desk in another. Joji fumbled with the lightswitch, and then hovered awkwardly as Ian put down his bags.

“Um,” Joji wasn’t making eye contact. “I’ll be in, the uh, kitchen. Make yourself at home.” Ian mumbled an “ok” then sat down gingerly on the bed. It sunk down, lower that he was anticipating, and it made him shudder. Feeling his heart beat heavily, he scolded himself for being such a goddamn pussy. It was just Joji. A friend. He was here, it would be okay, they just needed to talk about… whatever it was? He unpacked some of his stuff, trying not to pry into the mystery person’s belongings that were scattered through the room. Action figures, weird glass bottles (well, he thought they were bottles), dusty looking books with foreign titles. Looking out the window, he had a grimy view of a busy street, with orange streetlights flickering over a sea of umbrellas. It made him feel queasy. Sick of the room, he scuffled down the hallway, finding his way into the main living area. Joji was there, and seemed to be cooking. He looked at the clock, it read:  _ 6:23 PM.  _

“I didn’t know when you what time you were coming, so I didn’t order food, but, uh, I have some shitty frozen pizzas in the oven.” Joji said, seeming to be completely fixated on the simple task of pulling beer from the fridge. 

“Sweet.” Ian muttered, catching the beer bottle Joji tossed to him over the bench. He looked at it warily, remembering for the hundredth time that day, his shitty nightmare. The bottle seemed to glare back at him, egging him on cruelly. So he sighed, opening it. He decided he needed the alcohol if he was gonna survive the night.

 

“So, uh, how was the flight?” Asked Joji, as they sat down on a worn-down couch, plates of pizza on their laps. Small talk, small talk. Anything but addressing the elephant in the room.

“Pretty good,” Ian mumbled, looking down at his food. “There was this annoying kid who kept crying.”

“There always is,” Joji grinned, leaning back. “Do you wanna watch TV?” Ian wondered how long he could keep up this casual act.

“Yea, sure.” He replied, mouth full of pizza.

 

Ian didn’t manage to understand what was happening on the TV, he was so nervous and uncomfortable. They were watching some documentary about drug smuggling; that’s all he gathered. Did Joji feel the awful atmosphere too? Was he even aware? The pizza on Ian’s lap gradually became cold, but he ate it anyway, anything to keep him occupied. It tasted like plastic, and made his mouth feel slimy. Eventually the pizza was swapped out for beer, which Ian accepted, drank with the silent resignation that it was all going downhill anyway. The beer, in turn, was gradually swapped out for vodka, and they ate some more, but Ian barely noticed. He felt his limbs going wobbly, and the TV had long since turned off, and Joji was saying something to him which he didn’t quite hear.

 

Suddenly, music was playing, and he was standing up, and swaying dangerously. He felt a giddy smile on his face, and all his worries seem to fly out the window. Joji was in front of him, too, looking just as happy, as carefree. Dancing? Were they dancing? The room was glowing purple, like in his dream, but less… creepy. It was just happy. Ian felt happy, and Joji was happy too, grinning at him. He swayed to the beat of the song that pounded through him, and he closed his eyes with happiness, spinning around.

 

Now he was on the floor. Why? His head hurt, and all of a sudden he could make out what Joji was saying to him.

“You fell over, you dork.” Joji’s face was close to his, looking concerned. Those warm brown eyes pierced his own, and made his heart pound loudly in his ears. 

“George…” He mumbled. He gazed at the face in front of him. It was so beautiful… Gradually, he felt hot skin brush underneath his fingertips. He saw Joji’s eyes widen slowly, his face get closer, and suddenly their lips were colliding, pressing together- it was like that terrible night on the beach, the shit that started all this.

_ “You know the cameras aren’t on, George.” _

 

Ian realised that the skin underneath his finger’s was a Joji’s. And that, and that- the lips pressed against his- they, too, belonged to Joji.

 

_ “I was just pulling a meme. You enjoyed it, fucko.” _

 

His hair was pulled, and he tipped his head back, gasping. The body in between his legs moved forwards, and a hand landed on his sweaty jaw. Their lips collided again.

 

_ “Sorry about kissing you, Ian.”  _

 

His own hands were somewhere on Joji’s hard body, his legs were spread, and his mouth was open, gasping, sighing, panting. Hot breath hit his face, and he felt hair tickle his skin. Sweaty limbs rubbed against his own, and he felt his neck roll around slowly.

 

_ “You know the cameras aren’t on, George.” _

 

The room was still dancing, and his head was spinning, but it wasn’t frantic, and he wasn’t scared. It was just his lips against Joji’s, bodies pressed together, panting in his ears, pounding in his heart-

 

_ “You know the cameras aren’t on, George... _

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't that proofread, sorry if it sucks. Honestly, my maxian fanfic is much better, and you should go check it out (wink wink)


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